


Paroxysm

by shootingstarcipher



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Asphyxiation, Dark, Depression, Intoxication, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Instability, Panic Attacks, Romance, Self-Harm, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:52:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootingstarcipher/pseuds/shootingstarcipher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper can't tell what's real and what's not anymore.<br/>Sometimes it works in Bill's favour, and now he has not only the perfect weapon to use against Ford, but also a source of pleasure he'd never thought he'd experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting Sun

Dizzy and delirious, he staggered into the bathroom - shedding clothes as stumbled around until he was left wearing only his underwear - and crashed onto the tiled floor, his head slamming into the side of the bathtub. The pain was welcome. It served as a distraction from the lack of feeling in his legs - which was responsible for his inability to walk properly - for a few minutes, but then he remembered why he was there. He spied the knife he’d dropped on his way and reached out with his right hand to grab it, simultaneously pushing the bathroom door shut with his feet as he lay there on the floor. For a moment, he barely moved, waiting for the familiar voice of who he tended to call his enemy to startle him.

Only silence followed and, thinking that he was going to be left alone, he hauled himself up off the floor and tumbled into the bath, being careful not to let go of the knife again. He couldn’t remember what had brought it all on this time; then again, he rarely could. A few drops of icy water left behind from Grunkle Stan’s shower that morning had his toes curling at the feel of them. A spider scuttled passed, avoiding him and he snarled at it, though his anger was directed more at himself than the spider.

It was all that damn demon’s fault. He’d been the one to suggest - forcefully; it had been more a command than a simple suggestion - that he took himself down to the bathroom instead of staying in the attic room. If he’d stayed upstairs it probably would have been over by now. He could see himself in his mind’s eye, wiping the blood off the blade of the knife and slipping it back under his pillow just before his sister walked in, but that was nothing more than a fantasy. He couldn’t go back there now. He had to stay where he was and punish himself quickly, before someone noticed his disappearance - for what, he couldn’t remember.

He was meant to be downstairs, working in the gift shop. If he took too long there would be hell to pay. But as he held the cool metal of the clean knife against his hot skin, his hand trembled violently and he couldn’t hold it still enough to make the cut he longed to make. Reluctantly discarding it, he frantically looked around in search of something else he could use to harm himself. It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt himself, but that he needed excitement and couldn’t think of any other way to achieve it - and besides, he didn’t care if it hurt or not, or if it damaged him in some way.

More adrenaline began coursing through his veins as his gaze locked onto the shower cable beside him. He reached up and coiled his fingers around it, hastily bringing it down to his level. As he ran his fingers along it, he bit down on his lower lip, feeling his heart thud wildly inside his chest in anticipation. He couldn’t wait any longer. Gripping the shower cable hard with both hands - although they were still shaking, half in fear and half in agitation - he placed it underneath his chin and wrapped it around his neck, pulling it tight so it cut off his air.

But then the door clicked as someone locked it, startling him and causing him to let go of the metallic silver cable in shock and turn his head to stare at the door. He grimaced at the sight that greeted him. A tall, evidently older blond boy was leaning nonchalantly against the door, his gaze fixed on him. His features were delicate yet pronounced. One eye was like a drop of liquid gold and the other was hidden behind an eyepatch. He held himself with such grace and poise that Dipper would have considered him to be some kind of virtuous, divine being, but that image was ruined by the sinister smirk on the boy’s face.

So this was what the demon had been doing while he’d been sitting here in the bathtub, struggling to find something that could provide him with the rush he so badly craved. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for whoever’s body he’d stolen this time. Last time it had been his own - and while they had made a deal, he did consider it to have actually been stolen - so he knew exactly how it felt to be forced out of something he’d taken for granted since birth. Then again, it had also made him realise what Bill Cipher himself had been going through, generally having no physical existence unless he managed to trick someone into giving up their own.

They eyed each other warily from opposite sides of the room, the demon smirking menacingly while Dipper stared back at him, his gaze full of dread and tension. Raising his hand, Bill magically unwound the shower cable and hung it up on the wall beside the boy and approached him, lowering his hand to his side again. “That’d do nothing for you, kid. I would have thought you’d prefer something a bit more… fiery.” Flashing a wild, frenzied grin in Dipper’s direction, he stepped into the bath and sat down facing him, his back pressed up awkwardly against the tap.

“I can do it myself,” Dipper snapped defensively, seizing the knife in his right hand again. He’d stopped trembling by now. His breaths weren’t as shallow as before and his heartbeat had slowed to a more regular pace. He wasn’t scared or upset with himself anymore. Now he just wanted to get it over with - and to prove to Bill he could do it without his help.

Bill looked at him doubtfully. “So you say, and yet you haven’t even made a cut yet despite being here for ten minutes already. You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?” Dipper hung his head and avoided making eye contact with him, causing the demon’s grin to widen. He clicked his fingers without warning and suddenly the showerhead was suspended in the air, resting on the stand attached to top of the wall again as it usually was. The rustling of clothing attracted Dipper’s attention and he jerked his head up, fixing his gaze on Bill, who was now in the process of removing his clothes just as he had done earlier when he came in. Once he was wearing nothing but his underwear - mirroring Dipper - the demon clicked his fingers again and this time, Dipper screamed.

At least, he tried to, but Bill’s hand suddenly clamped down over his mouth, muffling his scream so no-one could hear him. Scorching hot liquid - crimson in colour - was pouring down on the two of them, firing directly at them like a torrent of blazing bullets. He gritted his teeth automatically in reaction to the excruciating sensation, but Bill’s response to it was something he couldn’t understand. Taking his hand away from Dipper’s mouth, the demon through his head back and moaned, falling backwards and crashing into the wall behind him. He didn’t seem to mind that either, whereas Dipper was left growling at the pain, though a part of him was smiling at it.

The sight before him should have made his skin crawl but it didn’t. It felt as if his eyes were glued to it and Bill noticed almost immediately and smirked at him knowingly. It was like watching a car crash - so repellent, tactless and inappropriate, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was mesmerising. He wondered if there was something wrong with him - he often did - and if anything would ever make him feel as good as the demon seemed to be feeling right at that moment.

Pressing himself up against the side of the bath, he lowered his head in attempt to shield his face from the sweltering liquid raining down on him from above, but his gaze remained fixed on the demon opposite him no matter how hard he tried to lower it. Bill had been right. This fiery kind of pain was exactly what he needed. He hated to admit that he might not have been able to achieve such levels of excitement on his own but he couldn’t lie to himself; Bill’s help had made it all feel so much more exhilarating. And yet Bill seemed to be enjoying it so much more than he was. For every hiss or grown he let out, the demon moaned more loudly, his writhing becoming even more wild and uncontrollable.

Then the pain stopped and so did his movements. He sat up, scowling, and gritted his teeth in frustration. Dipper let out a whine unintentionally when the agony ceased and lifted his head, silently questioning the demon as to why he’d suddenly stopped it. “You’d better go back to your job, kid, and I’d better go too. We don’t want you getting in trouble with your uncle, do we?” It was clear he wasn’t any happier about this than Dipper was, but he was right in what he was saying all the same. 

Standing up, the demon used his magic to dress himself before doing the same to Dipper, who was just beginning to notice the red blotches and blisters on his skin. “Leave them alone. The marks will clear up in a few days… unless of course you fancy doing this again before then.” Clambering out of the bathtub, Dipper shot him a sharp look of annoyance and pushed passed him, making his way to the door to unlock it. “I’m not done with you yet, Pine Tree.” Bill’s hot breath was suddenly on the side of his neck, sending shivers down his spine, and a hand wandered to his chest, creeping downwards until its fingers latched onto the waistband of his shorts. “I’ll be back to finish this soon. Bye for now, kid.”

And then, with a click of his fingers, he was gone. Dipper stood there with his hand on the doorknob, staring dumbly at it while he took the time to get his breath back. His heart was still racing when he went downstairs after sneaking back up to the attic and hiding the knife under his pillow again.

Thankfully, his disappearance had gone unnoticed by Grunkle Stan in spite of him taking much longer than he’d expected. He had Mabel and Wendy to thank for that, though they did ask where he’d been when he finally returned to the gift shop to resume his shift. “I wasn’t feeling very well,” he told them, only half-lying. They both bought it and said they hoped he was feeling better. He faked a smile and said he was.

It was already late and he hoped the shop would be closing soon so that he could get this terrible day over and done with, not that the one that followed wouldn’t be just as horrendous. Outside, the sky was a vibrant mixture of pink and orange as the setting sun’s dying rays glowed majestically, reaching out and touching every part of the small, quiet town of Gravity Falls. Quiet yet strange, Dipper reminded himself, thinking back to the journals his great uncle Ford had written, documenting every odd occurrence he’d witnessed. 

Bill Cipher was one of those. Dipper’s hatred of the demon came mostly from Ford’s experiences with him (they also stemmed from his own, but they were not nearly as effective on his view of the demon as his uncle’s). His uncle’s opinion of him also influenced him with regards to his desperation to keep his own rendezvous with the demon a secret. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want anyone to know of his reckless behaviour, but also that he couldn’t stand the idea of anyone being aware that he liked having the demon around sometimes. Bill seemed to do what nobody else was able to: satisfy his need for excitement. Bill understood him, or so it appeared, and whether his intentions were pure or not (he suspected the latter) he couldn’t deny that when the demon provided him with pain, it was just the right kind and just the right amount to keep him satisfied.

He hadn’t seen Ford for days. He used to venture down into the basement much more often than he did now - every day, in fact. Now he spent less time in the company of other people and mostly kept himself to himself and to his horror, Bill Cipher was fast becoming his main source of social contact. And comfort, despite his harsh nature. That was even worse.

He went to bed early, as soon as the gift shop closed, and without eating any dinner. He wasn’t hungry. He sat on the edge of his bed, his focus torn between the knife underneath his pillow and the journal in his backpack on the floor. In the end, he grabbed for both of them simultaneously, pulling journal number 3 onto his lap and flicking through the pages until he reached one which caught his attention. Eyebats: strange little creatures described as winged eyeballs. His free hand grasped the handle of the knife and slid it out from beneath the pillow, his fingers grazing along the blade. He found comfort in the feeling of the cool metal against his skin, even when it wasn’t cutting his flesh.

He wondered when Mabel was coming to bed - more specifically, how much time he had before she interrupted him. His eyes automatically ghosted over the knife’s blade and his hand began to quiver again like it had done earlier. It shouldn’t have been this difficult to convince himself to cut. He wanted to do it, but his body kept refusing. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d found out Bill had something to do with that - a way to keep him trapped playing his sick game where he’d have to call on him for help because he couldn’t get his heart racing on his own.

Slipping the journal back into his backpack and kicking that under his bed, he lay down and curled up with the knife in his hand, his other hand clutching the corner of his pillow. Just as he closed his eyes, his heartbeat slowing and his breathing deepening as he teetered on the edge of consciousness, cold, harsh air hit his bare legs as the blanket was torn off him. He shot up, sitting bolt upright, and stared towards the bottom of the bed. His initial assumption was that Mabel had crept up on him to scare him and he instinctively shoved the knife back under his pillow.

The mattress dipped slightly at the bottom of his bed below the weight of the blond boy who had suddenly appeared and he groaned internally, refusing to let it be known that he was just a little bit glad to see the demon (although he did find his sudden insistence on using a human form somewhat unnerving). “I have my reasons, Pine Tree,” the demon asserted, leaning forward so that he was on all fours. “Oh, and to answer your question, Shooting Star won’t be up here for a while - an hour or so. We have enough time, kid,” he beamed, a predatory glimmer in his eye as he crawled closer to him.

His eyes widening, Dipper scooted backwards until his head slammed into the wall behind him. His breath caught in the back of his throat for reasons he could decipher, which only resulted in Bill moving even closer to him, this time so that his body was lingering above Dipper’s. “K- Keep away,” Dipper stuttered nervously, trying to sound assertive and failing hard.

A greedy smirk spread across the demon’s face. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that to convince me, kid.” His fingers traced the curvature of Dipper’s face, nails raking across his neck. Dipper bit back a moan and swallowed it, struggling to understand why he was reacting in such a way. “Come on, Pine Tree, you know you want this. I’ve seen your dreams, remember? You know what’s going on.”

Dipper thrashed about until he was finally able to turn his head and shut his eyes, the embarrassment of the mention of his dreams being too great for him to look the demon in the eye. “Don’t, please… I don’t want to talk about that.” His voice came out as a whine, his words sounding more like a plea than a demand. He didn’t even want to think about those dreams. It didn’t happen often, but when it did he loved it until he woke up, at which point he instantly hated himself for it. Most of the time they were about Wendy; he felt inclined to assume they were all about her, but some of them he couldn’t remember.

“Poor kid,” Bill muttered, patting his head not so gently. “I can’t imagine what it’d be like to hate myself as much as you do. Still, at least I’m here for you.” He suddenly lowered himself onto the body below him, his lips latching onto Dipper’s neck as he squirmed in discomfort beneath him. He ran his tongue along Dipper’s throat, pausing at one particular spot and biting down hard, and smirked when he succeeded in eliciting a stifled moan.

“I hate you,” Dipper snarled, pushing against the demon’s chest in attempt to get him off him. Bill sat up and laughed at him wickedly. Dipper glared back, his sense of fear dissolving into pure anger. 

This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right that the demon played on his weaknesses so cruelly - and so damn often as well. The sensation he was feeling in the lower half of his body was new to him and while it only served as a tool of frustration to him, Bill seemed to be irritatingly amused by it all. Sitting up with his back pushed against the wall, Dipper pulled his knees up to his chest in attempt to hide the bulge that was rapidly forming between his thighs from the demon’s glower.

He was foolish to think it would actually work. As soon as he pulled his knees up to his chest, the demon grabbed his legs - digging his nails into his flesh - and yanked them back down again. “So naïve,” he mused wistfully, moving to straddle him again. “Listen, Pine Tree, we both want the same thing, so the sooner you shut up and let me take it, the sooner you can get back to hating yourself.”

Taking hold of the brunet’s trembling hand, he slid it down the front of his body, stopping to press Dipper’s hand against his hardening bulge. “But why?” Dipper groaned, retracting his hand and slipping it under his pillow to clutch the knife again. He couldn’t understand what was happening, why it was happening. They didn’t love each other - quite the opposite. They despised each other. He knew that as much as the demon provided a source of the excitement he craved, he couldn’t change the fact that they were natural enemies. “We hate each other.”

Bill’s gaze softened slightly and he shook his head at him, as if he were disappointed in him. “No, kid, you’ve got it all wrong. I hate your uncle, not you. I actually like you - don’t I keep telling you that?” That was clearly rhetorical but Dipper nodded anyway, still not understanding entirely. The possessive, destructive gleam in the demon’s eye returned in an instant. “Now, are you going to let me fuck you senseless or not?”

Dipper’s body stiffened and he felt unable to give him an answer. His grip tightened on the handle of the knife and he contemplated attacking the demon with it and fleeing for his life, but he knew it could never end well. The look in the demon’s eye suggested that if he didn’t go along with him willingly, he’d take him by force instead.

The sun was taking an abnormally long time to set. He noticed this as he stared up at Bill’s face, the glare from the window speckling his skin with dazzling orange and pink glimmers. He nodded slowly, cautiously, and the moment he agreed to it, his heart started to palpitate faster and harder than before. He quickly found himself unable to breathe and at first he thought it was simple arousal but then he realised the pressure on his throat had an external cause. Bill’s hand was pressed hard against his throat, cutting off the air as he had intended to do earlier with the shower cable, only now it was having a different effect on him than the one he’d planned for.

Without thinking, he reached out with both hands - letting go of the knife - and wrapped his arms around the demon’s neck, clawing at his clothed back. He instinctively gasped for air as the pressure on his throat increased and he bucked his hips upwards, craving the delicious friction he created as their bodies rubbed together. Not enough. It was all such a rush - far better than anything he’d have been able to achieve on his own. But then Bill let go of him and he lay there writhing on the bed, swallowing the hot air around him but eventually let out a disappointed whine. His blood was still flooding to the lower half of his body and he realised he hadn’t actually achieved anything.

Bill’s lips suddenly crashed into his and the demon was rutting against him, moaning harder and even more feverishly than Dipper had thought possible, and he was biting down on his flesh again, the metallic taste of his blood flooding their mouths. As the pressure pooling at the pit of his stomach intensified, so did the speed of Dipper’s thrusts and he was swiftly losing control of himself. He came raking his nails across the demon’s back, his cries muffled by Bill’s mouth, and half expected the demon to stop grinding against him. In reality, the speed and strength of Bill’s thrusts only increased and he didn’t stop until he’d reached his own climax, which seemed to last a lot longer than Dipper’s.

Once their breaths had become less shallow and their hearts had calmed down, Bill pushed himself up and moved to sit cross-legged at the bottom of the bed, his golden gaze locked on the brunet. Dipper was instantly hit with a surge of guilt. Snatching the blanket up from the floor, he covered himself with it, turning round to face the wall. The taste of his own blood refused to leave his mouth and the feeling of Bill’s hand wrapped around his throat was still there, reminding him of the mistake he’d just made. He’d never felt anything like it before - the immense pleasure the demon had supplied him with. But now he felt he’d been better off before. At least it was over, he told himself as he curled up and closed his eyes.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, kid.” Bill’s voice startled him; he’d assumed he’d left already. “I’m not done with you yet. We’re only just beginning.” His voice was laced with malice, making Dipper shudder. He kept his eyes squeezed shut tightly because when he opened them, Bill would be gone.


	2. Just a Dream

Sleeping. The slumber was greatly appreciated. The biggest mistake of his life was forgotten for a few hours as he was swept up in the black ocean of reveries and contemplations that he wished he could drown himself in. If only he could stay asleep forever, never to be afflicted with concerns and predicaments of real life again. But then his mind jolted awake and his eyes blinked open, adjusting to the newfound light. He sighed, something he seemed to be doing a lot of lately, and rolled over onto his front, smothering his face with the pillow.

A part of him - a part of him that he found himself despising - wanted Bill to be there with him, not that the demon would ever come back to him now that he’d used him, except maybe to taunt him. He wasn’t sure it had been real. He never was. Nothing made sense to him anymore and it was always hard to tell whether he was dreaming or not, whether his entire life was some sort of unfortunate daydream or coma-induced illusion. Bill had said that reality was an illusion, hadn’t he? Maybe there was actually some truth to that. So no, it probably hadn’t been real. It was probably just a dream.

Just a dream. The words echoed inside his mind, rebounding off the walls of his skull until they were imprinted in his brain. But was there really any proof? Sometimes he felt as though time was slipping away from him, sometimes losing hours and hours and having no memory of any of it. And sometimes he felt like he needed to find out for sure whether anything was real, like he needed to do something drastic to prove that it was. Like killing. The loss of a life wouldn’t make a difference, would it, if nothing was real? Be it his own life or someone else’s.

In the back of his mind, he was aware that someone was watching him, observing him from across the room. And then he remembered. Mabel was sitting on the edge of her bed, uncharacteristically quiet, her gaze fixed on her brother. She didn’t speak, but when he rolled back over onto his back and then sat up, suddenly realising she was there in the room with him, she finally broke the silence. Pointing at him, she mentioned something about a bruise on his neck and he ran off without a word, darting into the bathroom to observe himself in the mirror.

She was right. Across his throat - exactly where Bill’s fingers had been roughly pressing against him, restricting the amount of air he could breathe in - spanned a dark red, almost purple patch of skin. So maybe he hadn’t been asleep when that happened. Unless Bill had done this to him without him knowing, just to confuse him. Yes, that sounded like him. Devious. Cunning. Immoral. And absolutely untrustworthy.

He hadn’t locked the door (rather foolishly, he had to admit) and it opened with a high-pitched groan, slamming shut when he instinctively leapt towards it and crashed into it, nearly trapping Grunkle Stan’s foot in between it and the doorframe. Dipper yelled at him to wait, flinching at the sound of urgency in his voice. “You do seem to be spending an awful lot of time in the bathroom of late,” Stan grunted in his usual raspy voice, but allowed him to close the door and walked away all the same.

For the next ten minutes, Dipper stayed locked inside the bathroom, frantically searching for something - anything - he could use to cover up the bruise on his throat, not that he had really expected to find anything. Obviously Stan didn’t own any make-up and if Mabel did, she didn’t keep it in the bathroom. So he was forced to unlock the door and trudge back upstairs to dress himself and brush his unkempt hair which was even more dishevelled than usual with the bruise on his neck still showing.

Just as he’d anticipated, Mabel pestered him for answers regarding his injury from the moment he stepped back into the attic room until he could no longer cope with the constant interrogation and snapped at her to stop. He didn’t know how he’d gotten it, he told her. It must have happened in his sleep, he insisted, for his sake as well as hers. It wasn’t a complete lie. It might have been one of the demon’s tricks. In fact, yes, that was what he was going with. What if his memory of what had happened between them had been manipulated, and he’d obtained the bruise some other way? That made sense.

But as he cast his mind back to the night before, the pleasure he’d felt while demon’s fingers had been pressed against his throat and they rutted against each other felt too real to be the result of a distorted memory, not that he would have been able to tell the difference.

His sister followed after him when he went back downstairs and the two of them automatically poured themselves a bowl of cereal each even though Dipper had no intention of eating any of it. He pushed it away from him as soon as he sat down, wondering why he’d bothered getting himself any food in the first place. Mabel looked up at him with a confused expression and was probably wondering the exact same thing. Then he stood up and walked away, muttering that he didn’t feel like eating and that he was going to brush his teeth. She called after him, telling him to wait, but by that time he’d already left the kitchen.

Grunkle Stan was in the bathroom now and the door was locked. Pressing his ear against the door, he could hear the sounds of water gushing out of the showerhead, though he guessed it was nothing like the shower he’d had the day before. Turning his back on the bathroom door, he returned to the attic and lay on his bed, his hand clasping the knife beneath his pillow as tears began to crawl to the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall.

The sudden warmth of a hand grasping his own took him by surprise and he yelped, instinctively tightening his grip on the knife as the all too familiar hypervigilance kicked in, making his eyes dart about the room in search of the danger he was sure was present. But instead of a threat, all he found was an instantly recognisable blond boy prising his hand away from the knife and a lulling sense of security he detested.

“You’ve been thinking about me a lot,” the blond commented, a devilish smile appearing on his face. “You just can’t keep your thoughts to yourself, can you?” A feverish sort of warmth surged through the younger boy’s veins as the demon leaned down and captured his lips with his own, but then he finally found the strength to resist and pushed him away, refusing to make eye contact with him and ripping his hand away. “Oh, come on, kid. You loved it last time and I know you want it now.”

They both knew it was true but Dipper still kept quiet, reluctant to believe that the monster that had tormented the uncle he admired so much was the source of the pleasure he craved so often and so intensely. He turned to face the wall, hoping that the demon would acknowledge his wish to be alone and leave, but the next thing he knew a pair of arms was snaking around his waist and Bill’s chest was up against his back. Out the corner of his eye, a glimmer of light shone off the silver blade of the knife and he couldn’t resist taking hold of it again, running his fingers along it.

Hesitantly, he looked over his shoulder at the blond and held the knife out to him, urging him to take it. “Do you want to…” he trailed off, struggling to comprehend what he was really going to ask. Fortunately for him, Bill seemed to know what he was about to say anyway and took the knife from him, stretching out the younger’s arm and holding the blade against his skin. Then he stopped and smirked.

“Do something for me first,” he demanded, his tone of voice warning him not to refuse. “Have I ever done something for you for free?” Dipper stared back at him and blinked. No, of course he hadn’t. He never did anything without expecting something in return, but usually he was happy with simply inflicting pain on him; it was something they both enjoyed, as repulsive as that idea was. “Well, I didn’t know it got any better than making you squirm before last night, did I?” The demon retorted, clearly listening in on his thoughts without him realising. “But now that I know it does, sticking this knife into you just for the fun of it isn’t going to cut it, so to speak.”

Turning his full body round to face the blond, Dipper thought for a moment, pondering what it was that Bill was after. “So, you want to do that again?” He knew the demon would know what he was referring to without him saying it out loud, but could only hope that he’d acknowledge it.

“Not exactly,” the blond drawled, lying back on the bed and gazing up at the ceiling, the all too familiar ravenous gleam returning to his eye as it had the previous night. “The only satisfaction you’ll be getting will be the satisfaction of having me slice your flesh open, understand?” Dipper nodded ruefully, his gaze remaining fixated on Bill as he waited for him to explain further. “I want to try something from your dreams,” the demon mused wistfully, laughing when the brunet swallowed audibly out of nervousness as he remembered that he’d seen his dreams.

After only a moment’s hesitation, Dipper shook his head and rejected his offer. “No. I don’t need you. If this is what it costs, I’ll do it myself.”

“Right, of course you will.” The blond’s voice was laced with sarcasm and he sat up with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, ordering the younger to kneel in front of him. He did as he was told without realising it, as if his body was being controlled by someone other than himself. “I wonder how Six Fingers is going to react when he finds out about our little arrangement…” the demon murmured nonchalantly, feigning innocence. “Don’t suppose he’ll be very happy about it. Oh, and I doubt he’ll want a demon sympathiser for an apprentice. What will be left of your life then, kid?” he added maliciously, a grin spreading across his face.

“Fine,” Dipper grunted reluctantly, gritting his teeth. “What do I have to do?” He was inclined to consider this a new low for Bill but he wasn’t about to argue with him, knowing that he could reveal their secret relationship at any moment. (“Relationship” was odd word to use as far as he was concerned, but he didn’t know what else to call it. They weren’t friends and they certainly weren’t in any kind of romantic relationship, yet there was something there. Convenience.)

Scooting forwards until he was perched right on the edge of the bed, his feet planted firmly on the wooden floor, the blond boy reached out and grabbed a fistful of Dipper’s hair, forcing him forwards. “I think you know what I want, Pine Tree.” Of course he knew. This was what most of his dreams - of this particular calibre - were about. Leaning forward willingly, he reached up and pulled down the zip that was just about concealing the bulge growing between the demon’s thighs. Just the light friction his fingers caused as they ghosted over the fabric was enough to elicit a deep, throaty moan from the blond and Dipper blushed in response, halting his movements.

That didn’t go down well with the demon and he tugged harshly on the strands of hair his hand was still grasping and instructed him to hurry up, bucking his hips slightly to rub against Dipper’s hand. Then he lifted himself up from the bed, allowing the younger to easily remove his clothes until he was left wearing only his crumpled white shirt which hung loosely from his slender frame.

After a pause, their gazes met - thought Bill’s gaze was much more of a glare - and Dipper lowered his head willingly, gripping the base of the demon’s half-hard dick with one hand and lapping up the pre-cum spilling from the tip tentatively. He winced at that the taste. Bitter. But he pushed on reluctantly, flicking his tongue along the underside of his cock and he found himself smirking at the moan that left the blond’s lips at the feel of his touch. The sound of his moans spurred him on and it wasn’t long before his hot mouth engulfed the tip of the demon’s cock and the blond’s hips were jerking upwards again, pushing more of him into the younger’s mouth.

A low, drawn-out hum slipped from Dipper’s lips, sending vibrations flying into the blond’s body and resulting in another, slightly less rhythmic buck of his hips. It wasn’t long before the demon’s movements were much more sporadic and disordered, each one lacking more control than the last and his cock hitting the back of the brunet’s throat with each thrust. His fingers, still entangled in Dipper’s hair, tugged harder, pushing his head down and forcing him to take even more of his cock into his mouth. It was as if he didn’t care that humans needed to breathe air to survive. No, of course that didn’t matter to him. As long as he achieved the pleasure he’d been promised, nothing else mattered.

He came with his back arched and his head thrown back, still thrusting into the younger’s mouth as a string of obscenities tumbled from his lips. If Dipper’s hands had been free he would have covered his ears in disgust but instead he was gripping Bill with one hand and the bedframe with the other, wincing at the sound of his almost completely incoherent words.

For a while, Bill lay there panting on the bed, struggling to get his breath back whilst Dipper was still trying to swallow the hot, thick liquid flooding his throat. 

But the sound of his sister shouting up the stairs to him made him stop and a feeling of guilt suddenly overcame him. Bill, who was still thrusting into his mouth, stopped after a moment or so and released his grip on the brunet’s tangled hair. Their gazes met again and this time Dipper was taken aback by the unexpected gentleness in his golden eye. “Go,” he ordered, his voice just as cold and callous as ever. “Be with her. We’ll finish this later - tonight, in the dreamscape. Then you’ll get your so-called excitement.” Pulling away, Dipper stood up and watched as the demon vanished into thin air, his clothes - which had been strewn across the bed and the floor - disappearing with him.

Mabel burst into the room at that exact moment and he stood there, staring at the empty space which Bill Cipher had previously filled, unable to comprehend anything at all. The bitter taste of him remained in his mouth, attacking his senses. He could still feel his fingers entangling themselves in his knotted hair, as if he hadn’t left. But he was acutely aware of his sister staring at him and turned to face her, forcing a half-hearted smile. Except that she wasn’t staring at him. No, her gaze was fixed on his bed - more specifically, the knife that was sticking out from beneath his pillow.

“S- Self-defence,” he stuttered, rushing to shove it back underneath the pillow completely. “I… I had a nightmare and, you know.”

Mabel narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “You’ve been acting strange lately. You’re not hiding anything, are you?”

“No, of course not.” It didn’t sound particularly convincing, but Mabel seemed to be taken in by it. She turned around and, once he’d checked again to make sure the knife was out of sight, the two of them walked back downstairs because apparently Ford wanted to talk to him.


	3. Echo

The mark on his throat was noticeable - more so than he’d realised initially. It was the first thing Ford mentioned to him when he saw him. Dipper had wandered into the basement, hoping to be distracted from his all-consuming thoughts of the demon and what he was going to do to him - as well as the guilt of what he’d done for him earlier. But then his uncle asked what had happened to him and he instantly thought he could tell what he and Bill had done. The colour drained from his face and for a moment his blood ran cold, until his uncle gestured to his neck and he suddenly understood. Muttering a fain “nothing” under his breath, he turned and retreated.

He no longer believed that Ford was the one who understood him. Now he had no-one, in away. He and Mabel were growing apart more and more by the day. He’d never been close to Stan, though his sister was. Wendy and Soos, the Mystery Shack’s employees, were people he enjoyed being around but who failed to satisfy his emotional needs. Ford had been the only person he could talk when it came to serious matters and now, he felt he couldn’t trust him; he certainly couldn’t confide in him about the way he felt about Bill.  
But maybe he wasn’t completely alone. Maybe he had Bill, in a strange, sordid way.

As he scurried up the stairs, the ever-recognisable sound of the demon’s laughter echoed in his mind, making him shiver. In the background, he could hear his uncle calling after him but ignored it. He sped up, chasing an invisible glimmer of light ahead of him. Ghostly figures seemed to climb the walls either side of him, growing taller with every step he took. The laughter intensified, suddenly becoming louder. He gritted his teeth in response. He hated that sound. It was nothing but a taunt, a reminder that his mind was vulnerable to attack… not that he had any secrets from the demon. How could he when his mind was constantly being invaded?

He collapsed onto the floor of the living room and fixed his stared to the ceiling above him. He’d become too dependent on the demon when it came to achieving his desired levels of excitement and he knew it. It wasn’t right, needing to wait for him to feel the release of tension he craved so badly. There had to be some other way. If he could harm himself without Bill at least guiding him through it (if not taking complete control and slashing at his flesh himself) then there had to be something else he could do.

He stood up and wandered around the house, searching for inspiration. A knife wasn’t going to work. Inflicting injury was Bill’s forte, not his. But there were other ways he could damage himself, letting go of his emptiness and loneliness in the process - ways other than letting the demon use him, sexually or otherwise.

It felt wrong. He wasn’t usually so reckless and he’d never done anything like it before. Whenever he’d hurt himself in the past, he’d always done it carefully, so he never really considered it as reckless behaviour. But this… this was definitely careless, even if he only realised it later on.

And yet it was right there in front of him, close enough for him to reach out and touch it. The fridge door hung open, revealing its chilled contents. Next to the cola he usually drank was something that could make him forget how he felt - the guilt, the confusion, the absolute emptiness. Even if it was only temporary, it was worth it, surely. Hearing footsteps coming from behind him - heavy footsteps, like Stan’s or Ford’s - he snatched the cool metal object he was yearning for and slammed the fridge door, scurrying along in the opposite direction to the footsteps. He ran up the stairs without looking back, clutching the cold metal to his chest.

Mabel had gone out with her friends so he knew he’d have the attic to himself. Sprawling out on the bed, he held the metal can out in front of him and glowered at it as if it were his enemy, though in reality he was starting to consider it an ally. Without another moment’s hesitation, he dug his fingernail under the soft metal and lifted it up, opening the can and revealing its contents to him. He hated the smell of it already. It was enough to make him feel sick to the stomach, though nowhere near enough to deter him.

The liquid was cold as it crawled down to the back of his throat, each tiny movement it made cooling another portion of his mouth. Bitter. Acidic. Disgusting. He just hoped its effects would be worth it. Maybe he should have taken more than one can, but then Stan might have noticed and he couldn’t afford that. His reputation as the smart one - as the rational, reasonable one - was at stake. And then Ford would lose all faith in him and he couldn’t have that.

He took another sip, still testing it, but then quickly grew impatient and gulped it down, trying his best to concentrate on anything but the taste. He was glad of what happened next, finally starting to feel like he could relax. His impulses told him to run downstairs and grab another can but he fought it off, reminding himself that he couldn’t lose his family’s trust. He could blame it on Bill, he told himself, but quickly shook his head as if to rid himself of the thought. They couldn’t know he was still seeing him.

The echoes of Bill’s laughter were fading. That’s what he really wanted. Smiling to himself, he pulled his blanket over him and curled up on the bed, facing the wall next to him. He felt like he could do anything. But what to do with his newfound feeling of power, this feeling of freedom that was everything but familiar to him? He didn’t feel guilty anymore. There was nothing wrong with letting the demon use him, because in a way, he was using him too.

Naturally, Bill chose this moment to manifest beside him.

“Didn’t have you pegged as an underage drinker, Pine Tree,” the demon beamed, his golden eye glistening. Dipper glared at him from out the corner of his eye, then turned away from him and ignored him, gritting his teeth. He’d said they’d meet up later in the dreamscape. That wasn’t here. Then he’d get the excitement he craved, he’d said, but that wasn’t now, was it?

The demon chuckled cruelly, attracting his attention. “You fell asleep,” he explained, although it wasn’t much of an explanation. “Now, this,” - he reached under the pillow Dipper was resting his head on and snatched the knife out from underneath him, sneering at the small yet sharp silver blade - “this won’t do.” He tossed the knife over his shoulder casually and the clatter it created as it crashed into the floorboards below had Dipper blinking his eyes and covering his ears with his hands. Sitting up, Bill clapped his hands together and grinned as a larger, sharper golden knife appeared in his left hand. “Much better,” he smirked, glancing at the younger boy sideways on.

Dipper sat up in a hurry, leaning forwards eagerly, and then paused, suddenly hating himself for being so desperate. “You’re keen,” the blond commented, pushing him back so that he was lying down again. Then he moved to kneel in between his legs, still holding the golden knife in his hand, and a crooked grin spread across his face. With his free hand he reached down and his fingers played with the hem of the brunet’s shorts for a moment before pushing the fabric back, exposing his thigh.

Dipper’s eyes were closed as he concentrated on trying to relax, but then the feeling of the cold blade pressing firmly against his skin distracted him and jerked away instinctively, resulting in the demon gripping his leg and holding him still. He gritted his teeth as the first incision was made but then gradually allowed himself to be subdued, each wound the blond inflicted on him bringing an oddly pleasurable feeling of relaxation. It was soothing, feeling the sharp jabs of pain burning through him.

By the time his thigh had been cut up into a bleeding mess he had given up any control he’d had over himself beforehand, now unable to bite back the moans that were forcing their way out through his lips. Bill carried on smirking, even after he put the knife down and admired the work he’d done on the younger’s leg.

“You’re done?” Dipper practically whined, sitting up and leaning over to look at his thigh. Unsurprisingly, he’d carved a triangle into his leg. Other gashes and wounds were scattered around it, each one adding to the amount of blood he was rapidly losing.

“You’re disappointed?” Bill retorted and lowered his head, his tongue darting out to lick at the younger boy’s wounds with a quiet moan. “Is that all you want?” he asked, his head still lowered as his teeth lightly grazed a large bloody gash on the inside of Dipper’s thigh.

Dipper’s eyes widened - and not just because of the pain that came with the demon’s movements. “What else?”

His response surprised him. It had nothing to do with what they were talking about. “Never mind. Play dead.” For a moment, Dipper was confused. But then his eyes flew open as he woke up and - as well as the all too familiar echoes of laughter - he heard footsteps climbing up the stairs to the attic.


	4. Hypnotised

The first thing he did was look down at his thigh. There was no blood, no physical evidence of Bill Cipher’s presence, even though the feeling of his fingers creeping up his leg and slipping into his shorts still lingered. It had just been a dream, he told himself as he ignored the fact that the demon possessed the ability to wander in and out of dreams and that everything that happened while he’d been asleep was real, maybe not to him, but to the demon. He glanced down at the floor and saw the beer can he’d stolen from the kitchen lying on its side, its contents spilling out everywhere. He’d only drunk about half of it, so why did he feel so lightheaded?

He forgot to do what Bill had told him to. He forgot to play dead. The heavy footsteps grew louder and drew his attention to the stairs leading up to the attic and then he remembered, but it was already too late. Grunkle Ford stepped into the room, his eyes cold and hard and his face stern yet paradoxically gentle. Gentle, Dipper repeated in his mind. Bill had never been gentle with him. He’d never been kind or loving in any way. All he did was take from him, abuse him, and eventually he would discard him. But the worst part was that Dipper didn’t mind. He wanted to be abused by him - though a bit of gentleness every now and again would have been refreshing.

Without a word, Ford dragged himself up from the staircase and strode across the room until he reached Mabel’s bed, at which point he sat down on the edge of it, facing Dipper, who in turn shifted his position so that he was facing his uncle directly. “He’s speaking to you again.” It wasn’t a question; that much was obvious from his tone of voice, but how he felt about it was a complete mystery - though Dipper guessed he wasn’t exactly thrilled. And even though he knew it was a statement, not a question, Dipper nodded his head in reply.

His uncle’s response was ambiguous. He said nothing, but nodded silently as if in agreement, though his stare remained cold and distant. After a moment or so, his gaze suddenly hardened and the slight hint of sympathy disappeared altogether. This was the response Dipper had been expecting - not the one he’d wanted, but the one he’d expected to receive.

“Is he talking to you now?” An unusual question to ask, Dipper mentally commented. Surely he’d know if Bill was there. Still, he shook his head silently, raising his gaze to look his uncle in the eye. He wished he was there. He wished Bill was there instead of Ford, because even though his uncle tended to express more kindness than the demon and he couldn’t trust either of them, Bill was the one who could quench his thirst for excitement. Bill understood him. No-one else did - not even Ford, despite how much he liked to think he did.

He felt like he was being interrogated. Although the interrogation didn’t last very long, it was gruelling. He was asked about how often Bill came to him, what he did, what he said, and Dipper lied about all of it. Not very often, he said. He doesn’t do anything but stand in a corner, he promised. He doesn’t say anything, he told him. They were lies and they both knew it, but all his uncle did about it was stand up and walk away, making him promise to tell him if the demon ever came back again. Dipper said that he would. They both knew he wouldn’t.

He didn’t mention the knocked over beer can on the floor by the bed even though he’d noticed it when he first walked in. That could wait.

As he lay back on the bed and curled up again, Dipper found himself wondering where the demon had gone - where he went when they weren’t together. Torturing someone else? Probably. But the question which was lingering in the back of his mind was whether Bill had the same type of relationship they had together with someone else. If he was really as old as the galaxy (“and even more twisted”, as Ford had put it) then he couldn’t be the first person to enter into this kind of relationship with him. A pang of jealousy struck him and he suddenly shut every thought of the demon out of his mind, hating the way he accentuated all of his weaknesses - jealousy being one of them.

He was even jealous of Ford, in a way. Not because of his intellect or the way everyone - everyone but Stan and possibly Mabel - respected him, but because of his relationship with Bill. They had been closer than he was to either of them. Still, that had ended by now, hadn’t it? Now Bill had him to use for his tricks now. He didn’t need Ford. He couldn’t help considering, though, how the demon would react to his jealousy. He’d probably find it hilarious. If physical pain was so amusing to him, then it was logical to assume that he’d treat emotion pain in the same way, wasn’t it? So, yes, he’d find it funny and Dipper decided to end that thought right there before it got out of hand. He had no reason to care about how the demon felt about him and had no intention of thinking about it anymore.

Sometimes, things happened suddenly. Paroxysms of anger, frustration or despair; those were the usual ones but sometimes, like right then as he lay curled up on his bed, more disturbing things happened.

The next few hours were a blur. It was as if they hadn’t existed. It was as if he’d blinked and missed them completely. However he did it, he wound up outside in the woods with no recollection of how he’d gotten there. It was a familiar place but an unnerving experience all the same. He was alone, naturally, and his only companions were the sounds of the water cascading over the precipice of the falls and a few stray animals: a handful of birds and a couple of wild deer.

He sat down on the grass, cross-legged, and gazed out at the waterfall. The rush of the water was compelling, hypnotic even, and he smiled a small smile as the noise invaded his senses, the roar of the waterfall breaking into the serenity of the glistening crystal pool below it. Tranquility was overrated. Bill would have had to agree with him on that, even if they didn’t get along when it came to anything else. But of course they did sometimes get along whether they wanted to admit it or not.

Cursing himself for letting the demon wander into his thoughts again, he shrugged off his backpack and opened it, taking out the first journal he’d stumbled across since arriving in the strange, quaint little town of Gravity Falls: journal number three. He flicked through the pages and a bird landed next to him. He scowled at it, distressed by its apparent calmness.

Slamming the book shut - and scaring the bird away in the process - he put it back into his backpack (which he left lying on the grass) and stood up, inching closer and closer to the bank of the lake. Sitting down on the edge of the grass, he took off his shoes and dipped his bare feet into the water. Cold. Not just cold, but freezing. A shiver ran up his spine and he smiled to himself. Carefully, he glanced around at his surroundings and - noting that he was alone - he quickly stripped himself of his clothes until he was left wearing only his underwear. Leaving his t-shirt and shorts in a crumpled heap on the grass, he dangled his bruised, bare legs into the cold water - wincing at the painful coldness of it - and threw himself over the edge.

He hit the water with a splash and, though he panicked for a moment and was temporarily angry at his own stupidity, he soon relaxed and let the water engulf him. The freezing cold water was causing his muscles to tense up and even if he’d wanted to fight back and swim to the side, he didn’t think he’d be able to. He closed his eyes and his head slipped under the water. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and prayed that he’d stay under, that he’d simply sink to the bottom, lose consciousness and never wake up again. That would be the end. It would be the end of his problems, his fears and anxieties, and it would be the end of him.

Of course, it was never going to be that easy. Bill would never let that happen.

A hand grabbed at his, fingers curling around his wrist, and he felt himself being dragged up to the surface. He tried to fight back but was losing energy quickly and before he knew it, he was sitting on the bank again, his legs dangling over the edge. The irritatingly familiar blond boy was in the water, straight in front of him, keeping himself afloat by holding onto the bank. His golden hair was wet and hung over his face, obscuring Dipper’s view of his eyepatch, and his chest was bare. In order to avoid staring at him, Dipper fell back onto the grass but was immediately grabbed by the blond - each of his hands holding onto his legs - and he sat up again with a sigh, glaring at him.

“What’s the matter, Pine Tree? I thought you’d be glad to see me.” Dipper looked at him like he thought he’d gone mad - which of course, he had done, a long time ago - and then he suddenly erupted into laughter. “I mean, seeing as I don’t come to see you often.” Rolling his eyes at the realisation that he was referring to his earlier conversation with Ford, Dipper sighed and lay back on the grass again. “Oh, and my favourite part,” Bill went on. “That was when you said that when I am here (which, remember, is hardly ever) I don’t do anything but stand and watch you from a corner. It was inspired,” he grinned, climbing up onto the bank and laying down next to him to draw his attention again.

Dipper glanced at him once, saw that he was completely naked for whatever reason, and instinctively rolled away, turning his back on him. “Could you… just... Just go, Bill. I don’t feel like being around you at the moment.” His voice was completely devoid of emotion. He closed his eyes, hoping that he’d be alone again by the time he opened them so that he could get back to trying to drown himself, only to be disappointed once more.

“You’re going to freeze to death, kid.” The shrill sound of Bill’s voice attacked his senses suddenly and his eyes flew open again. The blond was right in front of him again, having moved to the other side of him so that they were facing each other. He was still grinning, and leaning down so that their faces were almost touching. Dipper grimaced. He didn’t feel like being around him right then - not unless the demon was going to do something surprising comforting, which happened to be exactly what he did.

He was right, of course. He was going to freeze to death if he didn’t do something to warm up, but did that really matter? No, it didn’t - not to Dipper, anyway. He closed his eyes again. The sound of the blond clicking his fingers was enough to tempt him to open his eyes out of curiosity but not enough to convince him to actually do it. He fought back the compulsion and squeezed his eyes shut, but then the feeling of something soft and delicate against his skin made him open them. There was now a dark red velvety blanket covering his shuddering body and Bill was still next to him, now lying on the grass as he covered himself with the same blanket.

“Thanks,” Dipper muttered as he instinctively scooted away from him, having no desire to be so close to the demon’s naked body at that moment in time. “You really didn’t have to.” He turned his head away but the blond reached out and grabbed a fistful of his dark hair and pulled him back, forcing him to look at him.

“If I leave,” he started, lowering his gaze to the red mark on Dipper’s neck and smirking. “Not that I plan to,” he added quickly. “But if did leave - right now - what would you do? Would you jump back in and hope for the worst?” For a brief moment, their gazes met and Dipper nodded after a slight hesitation. There was no use in lying to him. “I knew it. That’s why I’m staying.”

Dipper said nothing but held his gaze for another couple of seconds before closing his eyes again. By this point, Bill had let go of his hair and was wrapping his arm around his waist, pulling him closer. It was a strange moment, when Dipper realised he didn’t mind. The warmth of his body was intoxicating and, as he felt himself being lulled into what could potentially prove to be a false sense of security, it was no longer the sound of the waterfall that had him hypnotised, but the demon.


	5. Moonlit

The walk back to the Mystery Shack was long, lonely and tiresome. He’d been asleep in the demon’s arms for quite some time but awoke to find himself on his own again, his feelings of anger and self-hatred diminished. Even as he glanced back up at the water, no thoughts of drowning himself came to him and so he got to his feet - physically and emotionally weak but still feeling unusually calm - and dressed himself. Bill had left the blanket behind and Dipper felt a sudden impulse to hold onto it, more as a reminder of how soothing the demon could be when he really wanted to than in case he wanted it back.

So as he slowly began making his way back to the Shack, he held the blanket in his hands and clutched it to his chest, rubbing his thumbs over the velvety fabric every so often to keep himself calm. Ten minutes in, when a fox suddenly ran out in front of him with tufts of red and white fur sticking out of its mouth, he clutched it even tighter, lifting the blanket up and burying his face in it for a moment, breathing in the remnants of the demon’s scent. Sweet. Not at all like him

His stomach churned when he lowered the dark red fabric from his face and saw the bloodstained mouth of the fox as it stared up at him, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make himself look away. By now, the fox had deposited its mangled prey onto the grass in front of it and, turning away from Dipper, hastily begun ripping the mutilated corpse of the deceased rabbit to shreds with its sharp, jagged teeth. Dipper stood quietly and watched in awe for a few moments before realising how strange his feelings were and turned on his heel, resuming his journey but stopping every so often to glance back at the fox and its bloodied kill over his shoulder.

He wasn’t far from his destination when his foreign feeling of relaxation was thrown out the window and his body’s natural survival instincts kicked in. A single spark set it all off. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a small, flickering orange flame and he set his sights on it - on the burning cigarette that was lying on the grass near his foot.

Perhaps an ordinary person would have stamped on it, putting an end to the fire with ease, but getting any closer to it than he needed to was out of the question when it came to him. In his eyes, the flame suddenly grew to massive proportions and, with a racing heart and shaky breaths, he took off, digging his heel into the ground and allowing the adrenaline surging through his veins to propel him forward. The sounds of flickering red and orange flames surrounded him, its volume rivalled only by that of his heavy breathing.

All that spurred him on was his natural instincts and the sight of the Mystery Shack in the distance. He steered himself towards it, struggling to fight off the temptation to close his eyes out of fear. His vision was clouded by smoke and it was seeping into his throat, choking him. For a moment - though without stopping - he allowed himself the sweet release of squeezing his eyes shut and letting everything turn to blackness.

The sound of the fire quietened as he closed his eyes and was gone by the time he opened them. He stopped and looked around, scanning the environment for any sign of the danger he’d been running from, only to be relieved with the result. He’d stopped choking by now and leaned against the nearest tree, catching his breath. The Mystery Shack was only a few yards away. His mind cleared and he asked himself the question he should have asked before he’d started moving in that direction thirty minutes beforehand: did he really want to go back?

The answer should have easily been yes but the fact that he felt the need to ask himself about it gave him reason to believe he’d be better off elsewhere. Somewhere he wasn’t going to be interrogated. Somewhere he could be open about his feelings. Somewhere he wouldn’t have to hide his odd relationship with Bill.

But he couldn’t leave Mabel.

Cursing himself for even thinking about running away, he took a deep breath and started walking forwards again, heading straight towards the Mystery Shack. His steps were shaky, he noted, but he carried on walking anyway.

He ignored Stan’s greeting when he stepped into the house - though it was really more of a demand to know where he’d been - and headed for the bathroom without giving the idea a second’s consideration. His hair was still damp from being submerged in the water earlier on and he felt disgusting. Cold, alone and disgusting. This time as he shed his clothes and left them in a crumpled heap on the floor - and neatly folded up the blanket and set it down on the floor beside his clothes - he wondered whether the demon would turn up out of the blue again. He hoped he would, even if it would end in disaster.

But as he stepped into the bath and turned on the water, he realised nothing was going to happen unless he put himself in a situation that would draw Bill to him. There was every chance, however, that even if he did wind up in a dangerous, exciting situation - like when he experienced sudden eruptions of a longing to harm himself or even die - the demon would fail to show up and then he’d be in even more danger. At least when Bill was the one hurting him, he could hand over the reins and it was up to Bill to decide when he stopped, but not knowing whether the demon would come to take over from him was terrifying.

That was why he chose not to force himself into a situation where he was likely to be out of his depth and instead leaned back against the side of the bath as he let it fill up with water, closing his eyes as he felt his fear and frustration drain away.

The initially warm water was cold by the time he climbed out of the bath because he’d been in there for so long, but at least he didn’t feel so tense anymore. He stepped around his clothes and reached for a towel to dry himself with, wrapping it around his body to cover himself as he bent down and gathered up his clothes. Once he was dried and dressed, he picked up the blanket and carried it up to the attic room and thankfully managed to avoid bumping into Grunkle Ford on the way.

Spreading the velvet blanket out on his bed - it was, after all, much more comfortable than the thin blanket that Stan had given him - he sat down on it and rifled through his backpack (which he had by this point set down on the floor beside the bed, next to the beer can) and took out the journal he’d been carrying around with him. He turned to the page he was searching for and let his gaze settle on the sketch of Bill Cipher, nuzzling his cheek against the soft fabric of the blanket as he lay there on his side with the book in his arms.

He wanted Bill to be there with him but refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting his weakness. Leaving it open to the page depicting the demon, he rolled over onto his back and clutched the book to his chest, holding it in place with one hand. His thoughts began to wander and he automatically slipped his free hand under the waistband of his shorts, tracing the outline of his growing bulge with his fingertips. While he was aware that thinking about the demon shouldn’t have had this effect on him, he was also aware that he was powerless to stop it from happening. Bill had effectively conditioned him into associating him with sex and this was the unfortunate result.

Realising that the demon was watching him - as he always was - he froze and his hand paused for a brief moment before he remembered that they’d already experienced pleasure like that together so knowing he would witness him in such a state again shouldn’t have been embarrassing; in fact, perhaps it would give the demon something more interesting to watch.

So without another moment’s hesitation, he hooked his fingers around the elastic of his underwear and pulled it back, shivering slightly when the cold air hit him. Leaning back and resting his head on the pillow beneath his head to make himself more comfortable, he pushed the book aside but left it open and turned his head to stare at the drawing of Bill. He felt his rapidly hardening cock twitch against his hand when he looked at it and was instantly torn between primal gratification and his dignity and morality.

It was an easy choice to make, really. He’d given up his dignity long ago and morals didn’t mean much to Bill Cipher, so why would they mean much to him either? He was becoming more and more like the demon with every passing day and he would have no qualms about giving into every one of his impulses - whether violent or sexual or some other manic compulsion.

His back arched as his hand slowly wrapped itself around the base of his dick and a sharp gasp escaped his lips. Keeping his gaze trained on the image of the demon in the book next to him, he slid his hand along the length of his now fully hardened dick and teased the slit with his thumb, feeling the pre-cum drip onto his hand.

His eyes closed automatically as he continued to rake his nails along his pulsating cock over and over again and, in his mind’s eye, his hand was not his own, but Bill’s. He saw himself pleading to be kissed and touched and he saw the demon giving into him with a knowing smirk on his face. He felt the blond’s hands roaming all over his body and his lips pressing against his, teeth biting at him hungrily and he swore he heard him whisper something incoherent in his ear.

Suddenly filled with the hope that he wasn’t really alone, he flung his eyes open but was confronted only with the drawing sketched into the journal. He really was alone. Still, the pressure building in the pit of his stomach refused to subside and only continued to intensify. He was close; he could feel it. So he carried on rubbing at himself, not caring when he realised he was smearing the pre-cum across the palm of his hand. As he felt himself nearing his climax, he started to thrust his hips upwards to increase the pleasure-inducing friction he was feeling and eventually found that he had to chew on his bottom lip in order to quieten his moans.

Bill’s name left his lips in the form of a muffled, throaty moan as he came and he continued thrusting into the palm of his hand until he’d succeeded in riding out his orgasm. His chest rose and fell with every quick, heavy breath he took and his heart was hammering inside his chest, drowning out the sounds of his breathing. He withdrew his hand and, feeling the thick sticky substance clinging to it, instinctively wiped it on the blanket he was lying on, realising a moment too late that this was the blanket Bill had left behind and that it was now coated with his cum.

He stared down at the creamy white stain and blinked. He’d done worse with Bill - he’d swallowed his cum before - so was this really so bad? There was no telling how the demon would react, but he knew he couldn’t hide it from him. Hiding it from his two uncles and his twin sister, however, was a different story. Hastily shifting into a sitting position, he pushed himself off the bed and folded the blanket over. It was at least enough to disguise the stain, but he’d have to figure out how to clean it properly later. Right then, he was being called down for dinner.

It was an awkward meal - one of the most awkward meals he’d ever had to endure. Ford, for only the second time, left the basement to eat in the kitchen with them. Mabel had returned from wherever she’d been with her friends and sat beside him, trying her best to get her brother to talk whilst their two great uncles exchanged worried glances. It was the longest twenty seven minutes of Dipper’s life but it eventually came to an end and he ran back upstairs, aware that the rest of his family was talking about him as he left.

“He’s seeing him again…” That was Ford.

And then Stan’s reply: “How long has it been going on for?”

There was no answer. He guessed Ford was shrugging his shoulders. What would he have said? Nothing. But the answer? A while. He’d been seeing Bill for a while. It had never really stopped. Nearly every night, nearly every day, he came to him either in his dreams - or nightmares - or in his thoughts and guided him, helping him to accomplish what he’d never possible. Excitement. Control of his own suffering - even if Bill was really the one in control of him.

By the time he collapsed on the bed again he’d forgotten all about the white stain on the velvet blanket and covered himself with it, curling up on his side and rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric, allowing it to soothe him. It wasn’t long before he slipped into a tormented, guilt-ridden slumber but he barely noticed when it happened, his heartbeat gradually falling behind from its usual fast pace and his eyelids slowly becoming heavier and blocking out the light of the real world.

He was outside, in his dream. Outside on the roof of the Mystery Shack, standing under a dark night’s sky. The only light came from the moon above - enormous, round, and glowing white. A cool breeze came seemingly from nowhere, blowing the trees surrounding the house over onto one side before suddenly disappearing, allowing everything to go back into their normal positions. Dipper hugged himself and sat down, knees pulled up to his chest as he tilted his head back and gazed up at the moon.

It wasn’t white anymore. Still glowing, but… but yellowish. No, golden. And bigger than it had been before. And somehow it was… moving, rotating to show a large black slit in the centre of it, almost like the pupil of an eye.

He sighed, partially out of relief and partially out of embarrassment, as the moon became even more like an eye and a golden triangle appeared around it, which soon grew arms and legs and wore a bow tie and top hat. Bill. Not in his human form, but Bill Cipher all the same.

He didn’t say anything and Dipper remained just as silent. The way in which the demon’s eye was squinted into a grin was unnerving. Dipper’s face showed no emotion but the demon had no trouble in deciphering what he was feeling - hopelessness. It was written all over his mind. Hopelessness and, if he was not mistaken, longing. That was the reason why his eye was squinted into a grin.

Dipper blinked in the light of the moon - the moon that was now the demon’s eye - turned away from him and started to cry. He covered his face with his hands but failed to hide his emotions, gritting his teeth when he realised that Bill could see right into his mind.

When Bill eventually did speak, Dipper wished he could wake himself up from the dream that was rapidly turning into a nightmare.


	6. No Shadow

He couldn’t tell anyone. Not Ford. Not Stan. Not Wendy or Soos and not even Mabel. And yet Bill had told him he had to, or else something terrible would happen - though he didn’t mention what. He hadn’t been specific but he hadn’t needed to be; Dipper believed him without needing much convincing. And then, after golden glow of the demon’s triangular form had gone, leaving him sitting alone on the roof of the Mystery Shack with nothing for company but his own thoughts, it had gotten even worse.

The images. Horrible, disturbing images that were now etched in his mind, even though he’d woken up from his nightmare hours ago. He remembered feeling himself burn, his skin becoming blackened and charred as bright orange and red flames licked at his flesh, scorching every inch of him. Sparks of golden fire flashed across his vision as he became imprisoned in the blaze, and then his gaze had set upon a pile of singed bones across from him that he couldn’t help but feel an odd connection to, although he couldn’t quite understand why. He just knew it meant something.

It was a long time since he and his sister had gone out to explore the woods together - or on his own, for that matter - and so it came as a surprise to Grunkle Stan when they left together, but to him it was a way to get back the time he’d lost with her. Although he was pleased for her in some ways, he hadn’t taken the news that she’d made two new friends very well and since then they’d grown apart, with Mabel exploring the town with her new friends while he locked himself away in the attic room and… well, did nothing. Flicking through the journal and daydreaming about what could be didn’t really count as doing something, and other than that he cried himself to sleep until the demon intervened and either attacked him at his request or touched him in such a way that reduced anything he’d once found exciting to utter dullness.

He had been hesitant to return to the woods after his experience the day before and then of course the fiery nightmare that Bill had left him with, but Mabel had been most insistent and he’d felt bad about refusing to do anything with her since she’d met Candy and Grenda, so he had reluctantly gone along with it. Stan had seemed annoyed at first, being down two members of staff in the gift shop as a result of them leaving, but he’d seen the smile - small, barely noticeable, but still there - he’d given them as he watched them leave from the doorway.

Of course, Dipper didn’t know for certain what Stan did after that, but he had an inkling that in spite of his supposedly distant relationship with Ford, he’d gone down to the basement to talk about him. They were always doing that, discussing things they had no business discussing when they thought he couldn’t hear. They talked about him as though he was losing his mind, as though he was an invalid who needed constant supervision. He wasn’t, and he was under constant supervision whether he liked it or not, because Bill Cipher was always watching.

Mabel was strides ahead of him now and he sped up, trying to catch up with her. He was afraid he’d lose sight of her and then, not only would he be on his own again, but she’d be alone in the forest too and would probably get lost easily. He caught up to her and grabbed her hand, keeping her close by him. She protested but slowed down to stay close to him and as they continued walking, everything seemed to become eerily quiet. Birds stopped chirping and the sound of the paws of scurrying wildlife padding along the pathway running through the trees went silent, the ghostly shadows of their environment growing taller and taller until they’d encased the twins in a darkened version of what had once been the forest they loved surveying so much.

And then they stopped dead in their paths, their footsteps dying away abruptly. Only silence followed.

So it was impossible to ignore the snarl that came from behind him, and it would have been difficult even if other sounds had accompanied it. Dipper spun round and saw it first; Mabel followed. Standing in front of them, in the middle of a clearing, was a monstrous-looking creature with tufts of black, bloodied fur sticking out in every different direction imaginable and scarlet eyes that seemed to penetrate their very beings. It crouched lower on the ground, baring its yellowed incisors and clawing at the dirt beneath its paws with its talons. If Dipper had been to liken it to any other animal he’d seen or heard of, it would have been a wolf - a colossal, rather demonic wolf.

Running was an option but not a very desirable one. Even if they both ran in opposite directions, it would no doubt result in at least one of them being seriously injured or even killed. On the other hand, fighting was out of the question. Really what they needed was for the creature to leave of its own accord, but that wasn’t at all likely. Naturally, Mabel was - although equally as terrified as her brother - sympathetic towards the creature and tried to calm it down by hesitantly approaching it and speaking to it. Immediately recognising the danger his sister had apparently disregarded, Dipper grabbed hold of her by her sweater and pulled her back to his side, hissing at her to run.

He had every intention of staying to distract the creature while she ran to safety - back to the Mystery Shack, he would have said if he’d had the time - but it took off after her before he had the chance to draw its attention to himself. Acting on instinct alone, he chased after it, yelling at it until he ran out of breath and by that point he’d lost sight of the beast altogether. He couldn’t see Mabel anyway either. He’d lost her - maybe for good.

But if by some miracle she had gotten away, she would have gone to the Mystery Shack, so that’s where he headed. He didn’t see Mabel on his way there, but he did, however, run into the beast that had been chasing her. Or rather, the corpse of the beast that had been chasing her.

It was splayed out by the side of the path, even bloodier than it had been before, with its red eyes still open and glaring. There was indication of what killed it but that wasn’t what Dipper was interested in. He stood there for a few minutes in silence, gazing at it with same awe and wonder that had filled his eyes when he’d seen the fox dragging its prey around the day before, until an idea that he couldn’t resist burst into his head. The compulsions were too strong to fight away and so he hurled just enough leaves to cover the creature’s body at the corpse, burying it underneath them, and took off in the direction of the Mystery Shack.

Forget Mabel, a quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered to him. Nothing else needed to be done to convince him. As he ran towards the Shack, the voice grew louder, repeatedly telling him that she would abandon him anyway, so why bother trying to rekindle their friendship? If she had managed to escape without becoming fatally injured by the wolf-like creature, she’d blame him for what had happened, for the beast hunting her down and then they’d all turn their backs on him and he’d be the one left with nothing. Maybe even Bill would abandon him for this.

His own heartbeat - fast and thudding, desperate and thundering - drowned out the voice in his head and spurred him on, the Mystery Shack seeming to move closer and closer to him even though he was the one running. He almost collapsed when he reached the door but managed to steady himself by gripping the doorframe with both hands.

The knife he kept in the attic was sticking out from beneath his pillow when he reached it, the handle visible. He took hold of it and, as he crept down the stairs, hid it behind his back. Mabel was in the living room, safe, with Grunkle Stan. Neither of them looked up when he walked past and headed out the door.

Just as he’d hoped, the wolf-like beast’s cadaver was still there, half-covered under a pile of leaves, when he returned to it. It was lying on its side and, not afraid to get his hands bloodied, he rolled it over onto its back so that its stomach was exposed. Then, without hesitation, he drove the knife into its flesh, slicing its stomach open. The rush that hit him with every stab he made was comparable only to the one he felt when Bill drove knives into him. He made a clean horizontal slit in the creature’s flesh and then two more diagonal ones, connecting them to form a gory triangle around the stab he’d made in the middle.

Sure that Bill would approve of his work, he sat back to admire it and gave himself a small yet proud smile. Bill wouldn’t leave him now - not if he continued to prove himself useful. He could understand now how easy it was to get caught up in the demon’s twisted web of lies and promises that would likely end up getting broken but it didn’t matter, because he would never have to be completely alone as long as Bill saw worth in him.

His hands were bloodied now and he felt a sudden urge to lick them clean. Bill had done it and he was the one he wanted to impress, so that shouldn’t have been a problem. And it wasn’t, until after the first couple of licks and the metallic taste that flooded his mouth brought him down to earth and his face screwed itself up into a repulsed grimace as he realised exactly what he was doing.

He thought of what Mabel would think if she’d seen him do it. They were distant already and that would have driven them apart even more. Ford… He would have thought he’d gone completely off the rails. But he hadn’t, Dipper convinced himself. He was perfectly sane, even if somewhat lost - even in spite of what he’d just found himself doing. Bill Cipher was insane. He, on the other hand, was definitely not.

Mabel was lucky, he thought as he reached out with one hand and gently ran his hand along the side of the beast’s corpse, rubbing the blood from his hand its fur. She was eccentric, that was for sure, but nobody thought she was crazy. Nobody spoke about her like she was mentally unstable and unable to take care of herself like they did with him. She was constantly in the spotlight, grabbing attention wherever she went while he stood in the shadows; the only attention anyone gave him was pity.

He wished Mabel didn’t have a shadow to cast over him, but that was only going to happen if she was out of the picture. That could happen, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bill’s promised him. That could happen if he made it happen.


	7. Irresistible

A pair of small black hands clawed at his throat, fingernails extending suddenly like talons. Dipper privately thought that his throat would be shredded into ribbons in a matter of seconds, but of course his thoughts weren’t really private at all and the eye he was being forced to stare into squinted into a smirk at the idea of it. Dipper shouldn’t have been so glad to see that smirk but he was, the sight of it giving him almost as much sickening pleasure as the feeling of his hands clasping his throat.

Lightheaded, he flailed wildly, reaching out for the body above him on instinct, an attempt to pull him closer. Bill’s body was too light. The friction he was creating wasn’t enough. It was enough to make him want more, but nowhere near enough to give him what he was craving. A while ago he would have hated himself for what he was doing - for giving in to someone so despicable, someone who had put his family through so much pain and suffering already - but he quickly shook himself free of that thought. Besides, no matter how real it felt, it was just a dream.

The pressure on his throat alleviated itself without warning. The small black hands, with the fingers that had clawed through his flesh and the thumbs that had violently caressed his throat, moved away from his neck and rested at his waist. Still pinning him down, forcing his back to lie flat against the mattress below, Bill curled his fingers round so they hooked onto the waistband of Dipper’s shorts and tugged harshly, sliding them underneath him until they pooled at his ankles. Dipper was already bucking his hips upwards in attempt to gain the friction he craved, but only for the demon to suddenly move away, his eye contorting into an expression of disgust as he turned away, as if unable to look the human in the eye.

And in an instant, the illusion Dipper had allowed himself to drown in shattered. There was something wrong with him - something so wrong that even Bill Cipher hated him for it. Something that repulsed even the most morally corrupt. And he couldn’t blame Bill for it, or anyone else. It was just him. He was repulsive.

As realisation crept up on him, he sank down into the mattress and pulled the blanket up over his face, hiding. Because he would always feel safe if he was hidden, if he thought that no-one could see him. But then, of course, someone could see him. Bill had told him a hundred times before - he was always watching.

He woke up with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. That made him feel weak - knowing that his enemy’s rejection had brought him to tears - and simply acknowledging that feeling of weakness and inadequacy brought tears to his eyes again. Mabel must have gotten up early, because she wasn’t there now. Good, he thought to himself, knowing that it meant she probably hadn’t noticed him crying. Not even bothering to check what time it was, he rolled over to face the wall and let his tears fall freely, dampening the velvet blanket he was holding against his chest.

Days had passed since he and Mabel had come across the beast in the woods. Nights had faded in and out and now that yet another unbearable morning was returning he could no longer fight off the urge to commit that sin again - not to kill, not yet, but to feel the blood of a being that had once lived trickling down his hands again. It was irresistible. And if anyone had seen the eagerness on his face as he jumped out of bed that morning, they would have thought “at least something’s giving him the will to get up.” But that would have been all they thought. They wouldn’t have noticed the glimmer of malice in his eye or the way the way the grey sky darkened as he set out into the woods, hands curled into fists as his nails dug firmly into his palms.

He didn’t notice any of that either. He didn’t realise quite how much he was willing to do just for some small amount of recognition from a being he didn’t even like, or even how much like that being he was becoming. And even though the sky was normally cloudless and blue, and if only he’d had the incentive to examine the condition it was in now he probably would have become aware of the difference, he ignored the greyscale skies above him, concentrating entirely on the cluster of trees he was heading towards.

He should have eaten something before leaving. That was a stupid mistake to make. By the time he reached the first of several clearings in the forest he was exhausted and sat down on the grass, leaning back against a nearby tree trunk and observed his surroundings. He took off his backpack and flung it on the ground beside him. The journal seemed to be beckoning to him, begging him to open it up and take a look inside. His will power was slipping from his grasp. It had been for quite a while. So he obeyed.

He took out the book and, running his fingers across each page he turned, he flicked through until he caught sight of what had been calling to him. Or rather, who had been calling to him. It was strange, how now that he’d seen the demon in his human form and had done unspeakable things with him, his ordinary, triangular form seemed much more attractive. Even in his dream - the dream in which he’d been rejected, the dream he’d preferred to have forgotten - Bill had still succeeded in arousing him despite being in his triangular form. It was confusing to say the least.

It shouldn’t have surprised him when the eye in the centre of the drawing he couldn’t help but stare at blinked, but he jerked back in shock, his pulse race skyrocketing for a split second before calming down. His lips curled into a smile automatically, the knowledge that he was being watched over giving him reason to feel safe even when there were sufficient grounds for to him to be disturbed by the constant supervision. Nobody else was watching over him - only Bill. Nobody else seemed to care like he did, even if that care was more about ensuring his own enjoyment than Dipper’s.

But why, he couldn’t help wondering, would Bill bother watching him, when just a few hours ago he’d pushed him away in disgust? Then, he decided. He did it to confuse him. Because confusion made people lose their minds and that was what Bill Cipher was best at.

Dipper hissed quietly in pain as a bolt of agony shot up his index finger, a drop of blood appearing on the pad of his finger where the sharp edge of the book had cut him. It was a small incision, and nowhere near as painful as anything Bill had ever put him through (or anything he’d put himself through), but it stung. He lifted his finger to his mouth and licked the bead of blood off, allowing the metallic scent to violently invade his senses, but the drawing in the book looked at him with disapproval and he stopped immediately, afraid of being rejected yet again.

Sitting up straight, he picked up the journal - inadvertently smearing a barely noticeable amount of blood across the page in the process - and propped it up against the tree, keeping it open to the page he liked the most. Then he stood up and resumed what he’d gone there to do - find an animal, hopefully dead but he was getting so desperate it wouldn’t have taken a lot to drive him to kill. Bill must have wanted to watch, he thought. Maybe he didn’t find it as disgusting as other people did. Or maybe he liked disgusting. Dipper was starting to think he liked it too.

The leaves that littered the ground crunched under his feet. He hissed at the sound angrily, wishing for silence but silence never came. Every time he looked back at the journal, the drawing had moved slightly. His anger dissipated at the realisation, allowing him to relax somewhat and continue his search.

He had hoped for larger prey. A fox maybe, or something of a similar size. Instead he came across a dead rabbit whose body remained untouched, not at all mutilated like he’d been expecting. That was good news, at least. A small corpse, but a clean slate. He picked it up carefully, holding it by its feet, and hurried back to where he’d left the journal with a twisted smile that could have been mistaken for Bill’s if he’d seen it himself. He didn’t realise, of course, just how alike the two of them were becoming.

When he reached the tree against which he’d propped the journal up the drawing of the demon was grinning again. Dipper sat down opposite the book, depositing the rabbit’s corpse onto the grass in between himself and the journal, and grinned back. But now… Now that he had a corpse to tear apart, he needed something to tear it apart with. He searched his backpack for the knife he kept in his bed but to no avail; he realised then that he’d left it at the Shack in his haste to get to the woods. From the book, Bill looked at him impatiently, as if he was tired of waiting for him to start.

Their gazes met for a moment and that’s when something unexpected happened.

His arms came through first, fingers hooking around the page of the book and allowing him to pull the rest of him out of the papery prison he had been confined to. As he climbed out, the world turned to a familiar greyness and he hovered in mid-air for a moment before growing in size to match Dipper’s height and then proceeding to sit down beside the rabbit’s body.

“Hurry up, Pine Tree. I haven’t got all day,” he demanded, folding his arms. “Oh, and you can use this.” Holding one hand up, he put his thumb and index finger together and seemed to pull on the air, a long, unbelievably sharp, golden dagger appearing in his hand. He handed it to him and Dipper grasped hold of it eagerly, glancing at it for no more than a second before plunging the blade into the rabbit’s corpse. He stabbed at it, letting his violent compulsions take over while the demon sat back and watched him with a smirk.

But then Bill reached and seized him by the wrist, causing his ferocious motions to cease. “Not like that, kid,” he instructed, moving his hand so that it was on top of Dipper’s. “Slowly. Savour it - not that you’ll never do it again of course.” He moved the blade so that it cut into the corpse gradually, each tiny movement releasing a stream of blood. After a while, he stopped and let go, returning control of the knife to Dipper. 

The stench of death and malevolence hung in the air, enticing them both. But for Bill it was already too late. He was already too far gone. Perhaps Dipper could be saved. Perhaps.

He fixed his gaze on the pool of blood oozing out of the rabbit’s stomach, matting its otherwise snow white fur, and let the dagger drop to the ground. “Why did you…” The words tumbled out of his mouth in the form of an incoherent mumble, quiet and slurred, but Bill understood regardless. That dream - the dream that had quickly turned into a nightmare… Why, out of everyone he knew, was Bill Cipher the one to reject him outright? How could someone as sick as him believe a child to be revolting?

“I didn’t,” Bill interrupted, drowning out the rest of Dipper’s thoughts. The brunet lifted his head up immediately, the demon having drawn every ounce of his attention away from the corpse. “That was all you, kid. And I mean all of it. All I did was watch.” In his mind, Dipper ran back through the dream, examining every second of it. “Well,” Bill added after a moment’s pause. “I did feel it.”

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” Dipper practically whispered, still struggling to comprehend the meaning behind the demon’s reply. He’d felt it, he’d said. But he hadn’t done anything other than watch, so…

“So all I did was watch, kid,” Bill repeated, de-railing his train of thought. “While you were lying there, barely able to breathe, begging for your life, I was watching. I wasn’t the one with my hands wrapped around your throat. That was just your dirty little mind playing tricks on you. Oh, and I wasn’t the one who rejected you either. You should know by now, Pine Tree, that I’d never do that.”

And just like that, Dipper felt guiltier than he ever had before. Because he should have known that. He should have known better. Bill was all he had, and he’d never leave - hopefully, anyway. His sister, whom he had always thought would be there for him through anything and everything life threw at them, was already drifting away from him. He had tried to hold onto her - not as much as he would have a while ago, but he had tried - and she was still slipping away, so he was just going to let her go. She wanted to go, after all, so why bother trying anymore?

There was that voice again. Telling him she could be gotten rid of. Telling him she could be removed from his life, just as she wanted to be. It wasn’t Bill; it just sounded like him. Telling him she could be pushed away if only he seized the opportunity to do it. Bill was smiling again, knowingly, encouraging him to do it. And he decided then that he would. The temptation was too much to resist, the notion that he could be the one they all cared for irresistible - so much so that he had to do it. He had to get rid of her.


	8. Hanging by a Thread

His sanity was hanging by a single thread by the time he got back to the Mystery Shack. The walk back should have calmed him, should have cleared his mind and convinced him not to go through with it, but all he felt now was rage and hate - hate for someone he’d once loved. It was her fault. It was her fault for always snatching attention away from him, for being the perfect child he couldn’t be. There was something wrong with him, he always heard them say. He just wasn’t normal. No-one was normal in that town, but who would bother listening to a twelve year old boy they thought was deranged?

But with Bill by his side, he would eliminate anyone who told him he wasn’t worth paying attention to. He would eliminate anyone who stood in his way. With Bill by his side, he had nothing to fear. The two of them could have anything they wanted - he just hoped that Bill would continue to want him.

If his path hadn’t been blocked by Grunkle Stan his sister probably would have been eliminated right there in the living room while she was sat giggling over nothing with her friends. The sound of their laughter made his heart sink and his anger flare - but then Stan got in the way. He had nothing against Stan (not usually, anyway). He appreciated him letting the two of them stay in his home for the summer and, though both of them had difficulties showing it, he cared about his uncle and knew his uncle cared about him… even if he seemed to care a lot more for Mabel. Dipper found no reason to attempt to harm Stan and to be perfectly honest, he’d never wanted to kill or hurt anyone other than himself until recently. But now Mabel had to go and if Stan was going to insist in getting in the way, he’d have to go too.

Fortunately for Stan, he stepped out of his path pretty quickly and headed in the opposite direction, pushing past him and walking towards the kitchen. Dipper gritted his teeth and glared at him for a second before focusing his gaze on his target. She was sitting there, curled up in Stan’s armchair with a friend either side of her, completely oblivious to her brother’s watchful gaze. His anger was fading. That worried him but no matter how hard he tried to fight it he just couldn’t win. Still, his anger may have faded but the envy he felt for his sister remained, as it always would.

Biting back a hiss, he turned away and trudged upstairs to the attic, collapsing on his bed. He didn’t mean to fall asleep but after nearly an hour of staring up at the dusty ceiling, he closed his eyes and that was it. Bill didn’t come to him, leaving his sleep dreamless.

He woke up to the sound of Ford’s voice. He had said that he would discuss the empty beer can he’d found in the attic with him later, and now was later. When Dipper sat up and blinked his eyes open, he found his uncle sitting at the bottom of his bed. He groaned internally automatically but put on a brave face, pretending he had been expecting him.

“I told you I’d talk to you, remember?” Ford said tentatively, scanning his nephew’s dazed face with his dark eyes. Dipper nodded but Ford didn’t seem convinced. “About that… er, can I found in here the other day,” he elaborated and Dipper nodded again in confirmation. Then Ford got straight to the point. “How much did you drink?” Dipper mentally snorted in derision, noting that he was acting as if he didn’t think he drank all of it in one go.

Sometimes honesty was the best policy. This was not one of those times. This was a time where an opportunity presented itself and Dipper found the opportunity irresistible. If he could ruin even just a tiny part of his sister’s reputation as the sibling favoured by most (without actually destroying her), then why not?

“It wasn’t me,” he whined, and would have smirked at the look of alarm on his uncle’s face when he heard his uncharacteristically childlike whimper if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was trying to appear innocent. “I didn’t drink any of it,” he went on and Ford’s gaze softened, though he was clearly still taken aback. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything… but Mabel’s the one who brought it up - with her friends. They drunk it and left it here. I didn’t even know it was still here until I woke up and found it there on the floor.” He met his uncle’s gaze, apologised meekly for not telling him sooner, and hung his head again.

Placing a hand on his shoulder in an only half-comforting manner, Ford stood up from the bed, said only one word, and turned away. “Alright,” he muttered as he disappeared down the stairs, leaving his nephew staring after him with a smile creeping across his face.

The moment he realised what he had just accused his sister of and how tempted he was to ruin her life, he paused and considered it. This wasn’t him or rather, this wasn’t the old him. This wasn’t the normal him - the one who lived in his sister’s shadow, the one who was weak and would choose to sit in a corner and cry himself to sleep over standing up for himself and fighting back. He blamed Bill Cipher entirely, but he wasn’t so certain Bill had done anything wrong. He’d just shown him what it could be like if he wasn’t so weak.

And yet ironically, he was weaker now than he’d ever been before. Weaker, but delusional. Lost in the illusion that Bill - someone who he still would have declared an enemy but with nowhere near as much vigour and animosity as he would have done before - would really protect him and show him more love than anyone else in the world, he was trapped and hindered by that very belief. He just couldn’t see that. Even as he sat there in the attic and thought hard about it, he was still completely blind to the truth.

His journal was hidden beneath his bed as it always was and he leaned down and reached for it, placing it in his lap as he sat back up and ran his fingers over the leather cover. It was no longer a symbol of his admiration for Grunkle Ford and his discoveries in the world of anomalies. Now it was something which tied him to Bill - a window through which he knew, or at least thought, Bill would always be watching him.

The voice was there again, inside his head. Bill’s voice. It was always Bill’s voice, even if it didn’t always sound like it. He just knew it was him. He didn’t have to wait, it told him. The longer he waited, the harder it would be (Dipper knew that to be true without needing to be told). Killing wasn’t necessary, it reminded him. There were other ways to get rid of someone.

“Besides, kid, I’ll help you. I mean, when have I ever not helped you?” The same voice. Outside his head this time. Dipper twisted his body round and looked up, dark eyes wide with shock. Behind him was Bill, back in his human body, stretching out on his bed and gazing at him with a dreamy - yet somehow still sinister - look in his golden eye. With a smirk, the demon reached out a hand and forced him to lie down beside him. “So what are you thinking? I could send her to another dimension or-”

“You know what I’m thinking,” Dipper pointed out, instantly regretting interrupting him. It wasn’t that he was afraid of what he might do to him as punishment, but rather another item to add to the endless list of reasons he didn’t like himself - interrupting people was a bad habit and interrupting a demon who had taken him under his wing was even worse.

And yet Bill didn’t seem to care. “That’s true,” he chuckled darkly, turning onto his side to face him. “I know you don’t really want to hurt her,” he said after a moment, mentioning something Dipper had hoped he hadn’t known about. There was a hint of disappointment in his voice, as if he was trying to hide his desire for Dipper to wish harm on his sister but was ultimately failing. “You don’t have to.”

While he accepted that planning his twin’s downfall was necessary in order to regain the happiness and strength he craved, the process was still too much to cope with, at least for the moment. He didn’t have the energy to focus or think about his options and on top of that, he kept getting distracted. That was probably due to Bill using his human form and not his original, triangular one. Over several weeks he’d subconsciously learned to associate this form with the pleasure and gratification that only the demon could provide him with. And so now, as they lay there together discussing their options, he could think of nothing but that.

But he kept quiet, keeping his private thoughts private, though not as private as he would have liked. Just as he was always watching, Bill Cipher was always listening in on his thoughts, always making a mental note of the most intriguing ones. Now was no different.

“You’d rather be doing something else? Trust me, so would I, kid.” Snorting in derision at his remark, Dipper told himself he’d never trust him. Of course, Bill knew precisely what he was thinking, although he didn’t let that show on his face. Instead, his smirk remained firmly in place, his golden eye alight with a mixture of lust and curiosity. “Do something for me,” he commanded, nonchalant yet still authoritative.

It was harder than Dipper had ever anticipated not to squeal that he’d do anything, but forced himself to hold back so as not to appear as weak as he felt. “What is it?” His attempt to maintain a steady voice failed but Bill wasn’t too interested in that, thankfully, and he was able to move past it quickly. All Dipper really wanted to know was what he was being ordered to do for him. Both of them knew he’d do it regardless of what it was.

“Go downstairs,” the demon purred, slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him closer to whisper against the shell of his ear. “Go downstairs, into the kitchen,” he grinned, giving the brunet’s neck a long, slow lick. “Grab some more of that - whatever you had the other day - and a couple of glasses, and bring it back up here.” Dipper listened carefully, decided he needed no more persuading and pulled away, intending to follow the blond’s instructions as quickly as possible, but the demon refused to release his grip on him. “I’m almost impressed, you know, by how you handled Sixer earlier. Not bad, Pine Tree. Not bad at all.”

With blushing cheeks and his lips curled into a slight smirk, Dipper left the comfort of the attic room and headed downstairs, completely oblivious to Bill’s plans for him - and he decided that was the way he liked it.


	9. All Your Fears

To his delight, he managed to slip into the kitchen and back up to the attic room undisturbed, returning to the demon with a can of beer tucked under his arm and two glasses in his other hand. Bill, too, was delighted with the speed at which he completed his task and rewarded with a deep, lustful kiss as he sat back down on the bed, the two glasses and the can of beer having now been set down in between them. Dipper’s cheeks blushed a deep shade of red and when their physical connection was finally broken he relished in the fact that he had clearly done his job well - well enough to earn a reward from someone who was usually tough to impress. But then he hung his head almost immediately afterwards, looking down at the can and the glasses beside him and wondering what was coming next.

His last and first taste of alcohol had been incredibly underwhelming - bitter and savoury, confusing him as to why adults seemed so obsessed with it - but the rush of disobeying those who were in power over him had been the exact opposite. He knew, really, what was coming next. He had to drink it. They were both going to drink it. And this time, he suspected that Bill was going to make him drink enough of it to actually have an effect on him - to lower his inhibitions, to make heady and dazed with lust and desire. But, he would have said aloud if he’d had the guts, Bill already had that effect on him.

Nevertheless, he picked up a glass and held it up to the blond, who opened the can with a click of his fingers and started pouring the dark, bitter-tasting fluid into each glass - half in Dipper’s, half in his own. As he tipped the can up so that its contents flowed into his own glass, the demon smirked and reminded the brunet that even though he’d done his first task well, he may need to return to kitchen to retrieve more later and if he didn’t do that just as quickly, there would be a punishment just as bad as the reward would be pleasurable in store for him.

Once his glass was full, Bill ordered him to drink and Dipper did as he was told without a moment’s hesitation, even though the smell of it as he brought it closer to his lips made him feel sick to the stomach and he would have preferred to do almost anything but drink it - in particular, he would have preferred to feel the demon’s lips pushing rhythmically against his own again as they coiled their bodies around each other’s and their limbs became entangled once again. What he didn’t understand was that if the blond enjoyed it just as much as he did (and he was almost completely certain that he did) then why were they sitting around sipping beer when they could have been doing other things they both found gratifying?

The demon ripped through his contemplations with a cruel smirk as he threw his head back and laughed. Downing his drink with a grimace, Bill looked back down at the brunet once he was finished and eyed the remaining liquid still in Dipper’s glass with one eyebrow raised. He repeated his earlier command, telling him to drink, but then immediately added that he hated the taste of it. Dipper had by this point raised the glass to his lips again but paused in confusion, not understanding whether he was being made to drink the rest of it or not. 

“If you hate it yourself,” he began tentatively, “then why would you want me to drink it as well?” But the answer hit him as soon as the words left his lips. Because he hated him, too. Sometimes Dipper forgot that they weren’t in love - he forgot that they were supposed to be enemies - because of the things they did together and the way they treated each other. But they would never be weak enough to actually fall for each other, even if he was weak enough to do as the demon told him.

And just to add to his confusion, Bill decided to contradict what he thought he knew was the truth. “Oh, Pine Tree,” he mused, shuffling closer to sling an arm around the mortal’s shoulders and crush him to his side. “I don’t hate you. What made you think that?” Dipper simply looked up at him and shrugged, gagging slightly when the blond tilted his head back and forced the bitter alcoholic liquid down his unwilling throat. “I like you,” the demon went on, flashing a mischievous grin in his direction. “I’ve never met anyone who can satisfy me like you, Pine Tree.”

The sound of his words made Dipper blush with pride for the second time in a short while and suddenly the burning fluid slipping down his throat tasted a great deal sweeter. Lips curled into a small, contented smile, he deposited the glass onto the floor by his bed and instinctively leaned towards the blond in an attempt to capture his lips in a kiss, only to be rejected before he could make contact. “Not so fast, sweetheart,” the demon smirked as he pushed the smaller boy away, taking joy in his suffering. “You don’t like it?” he asked when he saw the look of contempt on Dipper’s face in regards to the new nickname he had been branded with. Dipper despised it. “Pine Tree” had to be him; “Sweetheart” could have been anybody.

“I was trying to be more human,” Bill offered as an explanation and adding a half-hearted though nowhere near sincere-sounding apology at the end of it. “But then I suppose you don’t really like being human, do you, Pine Tree?” Another grin, softer this time, but his golden eye was as hard as a diamond - and just as mesmerising too. His voice was cruel and taunting, and perhaps it was made worse by the fact that there was truth in his words. Dipper really didn’t like being human - not anymore, though he used to. Now he’d realised just how weak and pathetic humanity was in the grand scheme of things through his discovery of the journal his uncle had written and all the secrets it revealed, he couldn’t stand knowing he was part of that meek, useless species. When compared to beings like Bill Cipher, humans were closer to the dirt they trod on than the stars they claimed to be able to reach.

“You don’t want to be human,” Dipper insisted, leaning in again but this time allowing himself to collapse against the blond, his head resting against his chest. “No-one wants to be human - not after they meet you.”

Wrapping one arm around the brunet’s waist, the demon lay back on the bed so that his head connected with the pillow and slipped his hand up under the boy’s shirt, his fingers teasing his exposed flesh. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” he whispered into the mortal’s ear, breath hot and tantalising. Dipper shook his head - albeit hesitantly -and whispered back that he wasn’t. “Liar. I’m a nightmare, Pine Tree. I’m all your greatest fears bundled up into one single entity.” That was true. Dipper was sure of it, even though he didn’t want to believe it. “And,” Bill went on, snatching back his attention. “And I know what you’re most afraid of. You’re scared of losing control… and guess what, Pine Tree? I’m about to make it a reality.”

Those words rang through Dipper’s mind even as the demon tilted his head to force him to look at him and then proceeded to connect their lips together in a heated kiss he knew he would have trouble forgetting - or even resisting. It really was irresistible. But his mind was elsewhere, his hands roaming the demon’s body automatically while he focused on the blond’s earlier claim - that he was about to make his worst fear a reality. Losing control. He couldn’t stand the idea of losing control of himself. That was part of the reason why he was always reluctant when it came to letting Bill hurt him instead of doing it himself; he knew he could control it and had no intention of relinquishing control to an enemy.

And yet he had done on so many occasions. There were so many other times when he’d handed over control of his entire life to Bill without so much as a moment’s thought. He regretted none of it. Bill Cipher was a tiny shred of light in an abyss of darkness and isolation; Bill Cipher was a much needed oasis. He had no intention of ever giving that up.

His attention was only brought back to reality when something cold was shoved into his palm and his eyes flew open, his senses suddenly overwhelmed. Teeth were nibbling at his collarbone and he was lying flat on his back, the demon’s body pushing down on his chest. He was breathless, and with each frantic pant he inhaled more of the sweet, intoxicating scent emanating from the bond’s body. He loved every second of it.

But it had to stop. He needed to move. He needed to sit up and look, to find out what had been pushed into his hand. It was cold - that was for sure - and metal. Reluctantly pushing the demon away and sitting up, he looked down at his hand and frowned. A dagger, with a silver blade and gold adornments. His fingers were coiled around its handle and he looked back up at Bill, awaiting instruction. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I want you to use it.” His voice, hard and unfaltering, made it clear that he wasn’t making a request, but an order. But Dipper still didn’t understand. He glanced down at his hand, quivering, with his fingers curled around the handle of dagger, and then gazed back up at the blond, perplexity written all over his face. “On me,” the demon elaborated, wrapping his hand around the brunet’s to steady his hold on the knife. “I want you to use it on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! More updates soon! ^^


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